


Perfect Match

by Romiress



Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Speed Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Dick convinces Bruce to give speed dating a shot and gets more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Slade Wilson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 157





	Perfect Match

As far as Bruce is concerned, Dick's idea isn't the _worst._ It's actually almost a good idea, and if it were happening to anyone else, Bruce might even say it was actually a good idea.

Except it's happening to him.

Some of Gotham's most influential—and wealthy—bachelors have been rounded up for a round of _speed dating._ Supposedly it's a step above the usual fare, a much-touted algorithm promising to make the whole thing a lot more efficient. The money paid in is going to charity. There's a fair amount of press, even, for the party that's going to be held after.

So Dick is absolutely right when he says that it would only make sense for Bruce Wayne to be present. He hasn't dated anyone in more than a year, and the public knows it. People are starting to rumble about whether or not he's _hiding_ something. The press are getting nosy.

Keeping up the business-as-usual charade is important, and he's been slacking.

He's dressed in his finest suit when he shows up for the speed dating, dutifully filling out the questionairre. The questions are all, in Bruce's opinion, rather _ambigious._ They're not simple things like 'what do you do for a living' or 'what do you look for in a partner', but more confusing ones like 'what is your favorite color' and 'what is your favorite sort of weather'.

Bruce answers them all truthfully enough because he doesn't see a point in _not,_ turns in his sheet, and goes to mingle.

Almost an hour later, they're all called up, given numbers, and told they'll have ten minutes with their first partner, at which point they can choose to continue their date or try someone new. Bruce thinks ten minutes is a _lot,_ but he supposes that's part of the draw: _the algorithm_ makes better choices than pure randomness, meaning less time wasted on someone you aren't compatible with in the slighest.

Not that Bruce is expecting anything out of it. He's there just so that people see he's still alive and part of Gotham's social scene, not because he's expecting results.

He _is_ vaguely surprised to see a man sitting down when he gets to table number seventeen. He did say he was interested in both (one of the few direct and clearly understandable questions), but Gotham's selection of single men is... _not good._ Sparse is being charitable.

Bruce is, to say he least, _pretty damn sure_ he'd recognize anyone who looked like _that_ from Gotham. The man is built like a _wall,_ all muscle with a broad back. He's got a shock of white hair, and it's that, before anything else, that clues him in, a dawning realization hitting him as he moves to take his seat.

And when the man looks up, revealing an eyepatch, scars, and a smirk, there's no question.

"Wilson," Bruce says simply, taking his seat despite the recognition.

"Wayne," Slade says back.

There's no question about whether or not they would recognize one another, and it's been _years_ since he confirmed Slade knew Batman's identity. His presence there is suspect, but suspect in a way that feels familiar. Suspect because Slade obviously has something to tell him, a message that's best passed during the day, well away from anyone else. Well away from prying eyes or attention from the other Bats and Bruce's various associates. Something private.

Bruce collects his drink, takes a sip, and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

Slade raises an eyebrow right back, and there are several moments of silence. Around them, the other _dates_ are getting underway, and theres is... not.

"...So?" Bruce finally says, wondering what Slade is waiting for.

It takes Slade a second, and then his smirk—the damn thing seems to be a permanent feature by this point—turns into a genuine smile as Slade tips his head back and laughs. It takes him a moment to come back to himself, settling back in his seat, and Bruce takes just a moment to observe, to recognize that Slade, unfortunately, cleans up well. He rarely sees Slade without his armor or _some_ kind of gear, and a suit...

Well, it's a good look on him.

"Let me get this straight," Slade says, his smile seeming truly genuine, "you don't have anything to say to me. You're waiting for me to say something to you... and vice versa. Neither of us actually intended for this to happen, did we?"

The realization dawns on Bruce. The realization that they are there by _coincidence._ That Bruce filled out his information, and some _find your perfect match_ computer nonsense gave him _Slade Wilson_ in return.

"You don't even live in Gotham," he protests, which is true as far as Bruce knows.

"I have family who lives here. They got me the invite and thought I might have a fun time. I was expecting to find some wealthy socialite who wants to go for a tumble, so imagine my surprise when _you_ sat down."

"Imagine my surprise that you're here at all, going to a socialite speed dating event in _my city."_

"Doesn't have your name on it."

"It does, actually," Bruce mutters under his breath, but it's not a point he wants to argue. "You can't expect me to believe you're here because you're looking to get laid. There are _plenty_ of better ways to do that."

"You of all people should know that people like this..." He trails off, gesturing around the room to make his point. "Sometimes all they need is a good, hard, satisfying fuck, Wayne."

Bruce rolls his eyes at that.

"And I've heard how you do, and no one who's mentioned you has included the word _satisfying_ in their description."

"Hard, though," Slade says, sipping his own drink as he grins at Bruce.

Bruce can't argue with that. On _that_ point, everyone agrees.

"I fuck like I fight," Slade continues. "Hard, fast, and with plenty of experience."

"But does it end like our fights? Rough, overly aggressive, and with me coming out on top?"

Bruce levels his gaze, and Slade meets it. Neither of them is going to back down, and with a moment of dawning horror, Bruce realizes that not just is _Slade_ serious about this...

So is he.

"My place or yours?" Slade asks, and Bruce matches Slade's grin with one of his own.

* * *

On the far side of the room, Dick catches himself squinting towards Bruce and Slade.

"This is not what I expected," Dick mutters under his breath. "I know we were hoping for a good reaction between the two of them but..." He squints even harder. "I think they're about to leave together."

He glances to Joey, who stands behind him, a drink in hand and a smile on his face. Neither of them are participating in the speed dating, but they're both making appearances at the party after, and the whole thing really exists purely as a pretense anyway. The _real_ reason they're there is to see if Bruce and Slade can be trusted to be in the same room together without getting into a fight (whether that's a physical or a mental one).

And, to Dick's ever increasing horror, they apparently _can._

In fact, they appear to be getting along _too_ well.

"This can't be happening," he mutters under his breath.

 _You wanted them to get along,_ Joey signs to him, his smirk almost as irritating as his fathers. _Now they're getting along._

Right then, watching Bruce and Slade _excuse themselves from the room,_ Dick really wishes they weren't.


End file.
